Tuesday, December 30

Heading up the hill today, saw a herd of Elk, probably 60 strong, hanging out in the field outside Happy Valley. I've never seen a single Elk in this spot, let alone a whole herd of them. Grazing away, and when I drove home tonight after dark, I saw the shadow of 60 plus Elk laying on the ground, hunkering down for a cold night in the wind. I wonder if this move in locale signals cold snowy weather ahead, as they move down from a higher perch. A tough life, being an Elk.

Saturday, December 27

Found a new locale with airport access in the 80302 hood, the Boulder Book Store, so here I sit, procrastinating on finishing up this damned newsletter I'm working on. A good morning at the hill. A type B day. What's a type B day, you ask. Well, the classic 1-2 foot snow dump day would be a Type A day. Good turns to have to be sure, but lot's of competitive bullshit to deal with, long lines of people trying to capture "the moment." I like Type A days well enough, but I'm not really a type A person and would just assume the masses didn't exist.

Type B days are cooler than Type A days. A little new snow, but more importantly, a lot of wind, leaving the far far leeward side of the trail covered with anywhere from 6-12 inches of fresh. Colder than a MoFo today, and the snow guns were blasting in places, making it a day where the strong and prepared survived, and the ill-prepped sat in the lodge. Many folks don't ride on Type B days, a that's fine with me. Nonetheless, King Nimby and I probably made 90% of our turns on soft, sweet powder in splendid solitude for the most part.

Post snowboard session headed up Spencer Mountain with the hounds. Fresh snow and high winds have made Happy Valley feel like ghost valley. You know all those people who are heading to the airport, flying to places, visiting people. Well it's safe to say none of those people are coming to Happy Valley. Clearly, this is not a holiday destination, and thank you god for that.

The divide is invisible and the clouds are raging.

Friday, December 26

Watching, waiting. Clouds are building in the west, and it's much crisper out, but so far, no new snow. Hoping this afternoon will bring the leading edge of the storm. Couldn't bring myself to head up to the hill this morning, on what may be the most crowded weekend of the year for machine groomed conditions. The only way to do it is to sneak in a couple of hours super early or super late. Today I choose the latter, in hopes the snow will move in by noon or so.

Came to the realization that every other site on the web named Off Camber (offcamber.net, offcamber4x4.com) are sites highlighting motorized 4-wheel off road vehicles. Ironic, because if you've followed this site on a regular basis you're likely aware of our feelings about motorized vehicles. I even saw some banter on one of these sites about how they want to buy offcamber.com. Fuck that. I'd rather keep the site and have pictures of monkeys jumping off buildings than give the 4 wheel crowd another avenue to spew their propaganda.

The whole access to land at all costs mentality, prevalent among the motorized community, irks me to no end. They're a strong group, but what they have in sheer numbers, they lack in imagination, which is a key weakness that will eventually spell their downfall. A bunch of bull headed fucks basically. I get concerned when I see the same attitude creep into the mountain biking ranks though. There are a lot of people in our sport – including leaders of the industry – who I suspect wouldn't hesitate for a second to trade the integrity of a sacred undeveloped plot of land just to increase their net profit.

Thursday, December 25

Merry Christmas Intergalactic Pilots. No major adventures today, save a hike up the back hill, but I did spend a lot of time figuring and planning trips for 2004. A lot to cram in – Colorado Trail, Iceland, Alaska (hopefully), random trips around the west – in my 17 allotted vacation days per year. To be honest, the adventures were a bit lacking in 2003. Granted, the Kokopelli Trip was epic, and Montezuma's Revenge was certainly sweet in it's own way, but I want to see and play in new places next year. Read a quote today that I kind of liked: "Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the places and moments that take our breath away."

Surfing the web tonight I happened to come upon some NORBA results from last year and noticed a friend of mine from way back in the day, in Vermont, won the Expert 25-29 class in Durango this past fall by more than four minutes. Ali is his name, and way back as a little grom at age 15 he was a dominating force in the Vermont mountain bike racing scene, matching up with, and even beating the original Intergalactic Pilot himself. Ali used to race on a Gary Fisher Procaliber, equpped with Suntour XC Pro (grease guard baby) and drop bars, annoying the hell out of all the elder Expert riders as he'd blast past them on various New England race courses. Ali was one of my first riding partners, and I did my first ever epic ride with him. On that day, back in 1990 I think it was, we rode six hours on rooty, snotty singletrack, climbed to the top of Sugarbush ski mountain, poached the closed Long's Trail (don't ride closed trails kids) which runs along the spine of the Green Mountains, and some how made our way back home, fueled the entire way by fig newtons. Ali even gave me my first pair of bike shorts. Ahhh, sweet shorts, with a nice leather chamois.

Ali was a classic case of a kid who was too good at a too young an age, and he ended up utilizing his phenomenal athletic talent to become a world famous pro snowboarder. I read somewhere he had 17 magazine photos in 2003 as well as a few video clips. Apparently he also invented the term "Misty Flip." Look up Ali Goulet on a google search and you'll see. Pretty cool shit, and it's good to see him back on a bike after not racing for about 10 years. So watch your back JHK yo!

Finally, RIP Bailey. May the hills to run in be endless and the food bowl always full in the next life.

Wednesday, December 24

Lots of rambling here about how the bike is a great tool for adventure, and make no doubt about it, it is. But yesterday, I was able to use the bike as a simple tool, by conducting all of my Christmas shopping (I'm late I know) via this wonderful, simple two-wheeled contraption. While the masses were boxed in their two ton steel chambers, negotiating lanes of traffic and mall parking lots, I was able to swiftly cruise through town, past traffic jams, with a simple backpack to carry gifts, Undoubtably, had I done the same errands via car, I would have ended the day cranky, with a headache, and in an all around bad mood. Instead, the shopping was broken up with an easy jaunt in pleasant 50 degree weather, breathing the fresh air and soaking in the sights and sounds. Too often those of us who view the bicycle as a way of life abandon it for the car, even when we know a bike would be the better tool for the job, the more sane tool. I was stoked on this day to make the right choice.

We're in this weird in between stage with the seasons lately. The mountain is alive, but it's not exactly well. We're suffering a lack of snow and the trails are mobbed with tourists, making snowboarding and nordic skiing sort of borderline enjoyable. Meanwhile, the trails are ice covered and snow drifted in spots, which makes mountain biking not the ideal option. The most enjoyable activity has been hiking with the dogs up Spencer, where snow cover is not such a big issue and people are mostly nonexistent. Ah well, it is what it is. I wish winter would get on with already though.

Was riding up Corona Lift the other day, on a solo snowboard jaunt, when I happened to catch graffiti on the chair lamenting the life and death of the snowboard legend Craig Kelly. One of my first snowboards was a Craig Kelly Air, with the weird splatter paint job. The dude was a true pioneer of the sport, first in racing, and then foregoing the standard jib kid pro route for a life in the backcountry, living the ideal life, riding big mountains in splendid solitude. He forged his own path right to the end, dying in an avalanche while on a clinic to become the first certified snowboard avalanche guide. We all have images we try to emulate, trying to touch the gods, and the image of Craig Kelly ripping down some peak in the Chugach Range is the one forever imprinted in my head while trying to capture a second of that grace on that particular day.

Tuesday, December 16

Silent, but not out. The last week has been a busy pattern on skiing - mostly nordic – working and then trying to fit a bit more playing in after work. The metronome of gliding through the woods, feeling the muscles, the lungs get stronger has been addictive. While the first few days on the skis were painful as all get up, it's starting to feel right, even good at times. The dark cold mornings are the only stumbling block, as I sort of zombie my way through the standard drill – wake up, bathroom, put on ski clothes, ski boots, hat, gloves, bag for change of clothes, hot water for hot beverage, out the door, grab skis from the shed, into the dawn. Then, after a slight breather driving up shelf road, it's a rude awakening emerging into the empty Eldora parking lot, greeted by freezing cold, wind, and of course, a brutal straight uphill first kilometer. But it has to be done, not so much for health reasons, but to just make the time that we've got on this planet worthwhile. A day without being a little uncomfortable, without seeing the red morning sky, without some sort of exersion and the momentary high that comes from it is not much of a day at all.

Tuesday, December 9

Winter has returned to Happy Valley in full force. Six inches of snow in the last few days, combined with single digit temperature have covered the December thaw nicely. Celebrated today, with about 500 other snow fanatics at Eldora, taking some runs on the snowboard, seeing Ray the poling wonder for the first time this year, carving it up on the hero snow. Then, an hour sufferfest in the soft, slow, cold snow at the Eldora nordic center. Nonetheless, thrilled that the trees have snow on them, the ground is barren of rocks and the world is a soft silent white.

Had a stellar commute into work yesterday. Left home just as the leading edge of the storm struck Happy Valley. The mountains were misty, and the road and brief stretches of trail covered with just a trace of accumulating snow, making for obvious tracks. Big puffy flakes, like a Hallmark card, on this part of the jaunt. Passed Lazy-Z road, and based on the tracks was a couple minutes behind Meriweather and the Mad Scientist. Try as I might, though, I could not catch them. Just as well. While riding with friends is always a treat, there was something about this day that made the solo trek feel right. Sort of like a cowboy in Lonesome Dove on the Montana plains just as the first snowstorm of the year hits.

Decided the commute down canyon was not a good option, so hooked onto N.W. Passage, hoping it would be relatively ice free. It was, save a few spots that came up and bit me and my front tire, but it made for an exciting go around. I suspect the passage will be iced over for some time now, being that it's north facing, so that was likely my last voyage on it for '03. Let it rest, let it be for another season.

The final part of the voyage, the descent down Kite Rod, was quite exciting, made moreso by freezing rain pellets smashing into me on their drop of from 20,000 feet to my vantage point. Now, instead of a cowboy in Montana, I felt like a fisherman in the Berings Sea off the coast of Vladivostok. Boulder could not be seen, blurred by snow and rain clouds, so I felt isolated on my orange ship, covered in five layers, behind my ice chunked sun glasses. All in all, quite pleasant though. Not particularly cold, almost cozy in a way.

Why are we humans so inclined to avoid bad weather? Sun and warmth. How boring, how unstimulating. I'll take a raging ice storm and a 3,000 foot descent any day over 76 degrees and Plez-ant.

Friday, December 5

A deceptively chilled jaunt into work today. Deceptive because the sky was blue, the sun was strong, the wind was nonexistent and snow was nowhere to be found. All the same, 10 degrees is 10 degrees, and the ride from Eldoran to Rock was a temperature draining affair. It was necessary though. I missed the bus home last night, and didn't get home until 10:40 p.m. Went immediately to bed, but the thought of driving or bussing it to work, without and interjection was brutal. So I rode.

My new fix is trails to the east, the azure wall trails. Rolling, narrow and woodsy, these trails have a good vibe to them, like I belong here. Lots to explore too, routes to the left and right, sometime when I have more...time. It's bizarre out. The woods and dirt are dry, the snow patches are rock solid and the air feels like midwinter, but the ground looks like early November. It feels a little off kilter, this season so far. Needless to say, we need a hefty serving of the white stuff.

Since I don't want to commit to writing the Magnolia Earth saga everyday, but want to keep it moving along since it's good to visit other places in the mind, it's been moved to the pilot link page, or you can just bookmark The Lord of Magnolia Earth.

Happy weekend and let it snow.

Thursday, December 4

Been reading the Lord of the Rings books lately, entirgued with the actual JR Tolkien written word as oppossed to the cineplex version that I've seen numerous times. Which had me thinking: If Shimano is the equivilant of Mordor, are singlespeeders the equivilant of Frodo? And if so, is and XTR desrailleur the equivilant of the One Ring. Interesting, yet pointless thought, but they serve for the beginning of our saga. Have I lost my mind? Probably.

In the 7th century, after the stone ages but before the era of mechanism, the land of Magnolia Earth was ripe with with civilization and peace. The people of the mystical world, the Elves, boded high in the hills above Rollinsdale, near the tunnel which extended to the land winter, passing through hells deep. They ruled, these magical folk, with powers unbenownst to man and creature. The elves were characterized by tall, slender physiques and the gift of immortality. Indeed, the king and queen of the elf world, Jorgen and Mora Herrod, were as of the 7th century near 513 years old, the five-thirteens as the local people spoke.

The elves spoke a strange flowing language, an ancient language, and traversed their hilly landscape on the standard fair of Rollinsdale, the Spot Brand one speed stallions. The King Jorgen rode a rare bicycle made from metal from the mountains to the north and west, a distant land where few but the elves and the strongest of men had visited. His queen rode a dashing white bicycle, chiseled indeed from the same mountains and brazed with a coating of inpenetrable ice. The ice queen they called her, as she danced across the hills with the grace of an antelope, distinguished by fiery red hair that indeed resembled the fiery pit of Moador. Yet unlike Moabor, Mora was graced with all that was good, and was a warrior of legend.

To the north, in the deep canyons of snowy range, lived the Riders of Eldoran. This nordic land used to rule the empire, but disease and fire centuries ago whipped out their dominance, and enemy attackers from the vestland drove the Eldorans into the tunnels beneath their mountains, where they survived for three centuries, before the Eldorans left the tunnels and settled their valley once more. Peace now reigned over the Eldorans, yet they were fiercely defensive of their mystical valley, casting strange spells on low landers who invaded the mountains. The Eldorans moved around on flaming orange one speed bicycles, led by a young warrior named Daal Vardal, who had departed the valley to travel around the world, beyond the border of Magnolia Earth, to the realm of the otherworld. Eldorans were a mortal race - not man, not elf, but somewhere in between.

Meanwhile, to the east, in the rolling lush hills, lived the Magnolians. The Magnolians lived an abundant and simple life, eating, drinking and exploring the nooks and crannies of their neighborhood. Crafty in nature, the Magnolians travelled about on various jallopy bicycles, cobbled together from ore and rock, but always swift and fast. The Magnolians were constantly at play, and did so until their deaths. The origins of the Magnolians is a mystery, but it is believed that they once lived with the elvish people to the west before decending to the hills of Magnolia. Magnolians were marked by their short stature - barely five feet tall - and impecible balance brought about by a low center of gravity.

Magnolians were an isolated folk, giving little care to the outside world, yet this would soon change. An ill wind was blowing over Magnolia Earth, and even the most isolated would be effected.

Tuesday, December 2

I guess you can't force these things. Hell bent on skiing at oh-dark-thirty this morning, I encountered what was probably the worst nordic conditions I've ever skied. Rock solid frozen ice, mixed with dirt patches, mixed with the occassional rabbit sized death cookie made the going interesting to say the least. So icy that it was virtually impossible to skate uphill, and sketchy enough that I was forced to sideslip down trails that I wouldn't normally think twice about pointing 'em. Ended up double poling around the icy tracks for an hour, making the most of a bad situation.

So I guess we'll bring old Johnny Rotten out on a regular basis for awhile. So be it. The hills are brown, and dry, so there is likely some singletrack to be had. Patiently waiting for old man winter to get off his rocking chair and start raising hell. In the meantime, it gets a 15 yard penalty for a false start.

Monday, December 1

God dammit winter, get on with it already. While I appreciate the 50 degree weather - if it was April - it's annoying this time of year, sort of like a road trip that has too many stops early on. I want cold and snow, no spring like interruptions. The mountain was a slush puppy today, until late when the shadows crept up and froze the thing solid.

Spent my weekend at Snow Mountain Ranch nordic ski area in Fraser Valley, dragging around the kilometers of trails for hours at a time trying to get in shape. You don't realize how stagnant a sport cycling is muscularly until you do something that requires you to use muscles that have sat idle for six months. When you're fit, in good form and you're skis are fast, nordic skiing is fast way to trek up and over the hills. When you're just starting for the year, and the snow is warm and slow, skiing becomes a subtle act of sabotage.

Of course, it was mostly good, despite the whining. Found an amazing trail that climbed at a steady grade for a good hour and a half, from 8,500 feet to 10,500 feet. It was good to get in the steady trance like rhythm of climbing, sweating, breathing and heading skywards. At times I was ready to say fuck it, and turn around, but quitting on climbs is a bad habit to start, regardless of the sport. At the top was rewarded with a stellar view of the home range to the east, and the Gore Range to the west.

Slept at the Rocky Mountain Youth Hotel in Fraser - a good deal for $19 a night. A true international gathering, with folks from Australia, the U.K., South Africa and Belize. It was good to hang out with people a little younger. The younger they are, the more idealic they are, not jaded by experience. I've noticed that as some people age, they tend to become obsessed with acquiring possessions, establishing ME as the almighty supreme (thankfully, my best friends have avoided this). That's the constant check point to keeping it real - no matter your age, maintain your ideals and don't ever think you know everything.